Where the Shadows Run From Themselves
by Random Ravenclaw91
Summary: A woman waits for her Master to come back for her.


I sit in the corner of my room, but I stand regally as my server enters. He silently hands me my meal, and I sweep my long, black hair away from my face as my black eyes glare straight at him. "Is my Lord visiting today?" I question sharply. "Speak now!"

"No, he is not," he answers, visibly shaking.

"Well, tell my Lord that I shall be waiting for Him here, where He left me."

"Yes, certainly."

"Haven't I told you, Mudblood, to not address me like that?" I demand coldly.

"Yes, you have, ma'am, I'm sorry," he breathes, but his lips twitch at the corners as if fighting back a smile.

"Why are you smiling?" I say sharply.

His face is instantly composed. "No reason," he answers.

"If my Lord hadn't told me not to harm my servants…" I shake my head at the thought.

_Why can't you harm the Mudbloods? Don't you deserve to?_

"Leave," I say, both to the boy and such disloyal thoughts.

He backs out of the room, a scared look now in his eyes.

The Dark Lord beat Harry Potter in the War, and now the purebloods like myself rule over half-bloods and Mudbloods and blood traitors. I was given my own room, away from my husband, whom my Lord knew I hated. It was kind of Him to do for me — it was kind of Him to reward me for the service I gave so readily.

That was quite a while ago that He gave me this room — I haven't seen the outside of it since I saw Him… and how I want to see Him! To again prove to Him just how loyal I am… It would be better than just sitting here day after day.

_It has been a long time — too long. Why does He make you wait?_

No! No time is too long if my Lord asked it of me. He must have reasons for it, and I will wait forever if He asks. He knows this. I wait with pride and hope for the day to come where I shall be by His side once again.

I wish I were treated somewhat better sometimes…

These people who He assigns to serve me are not of the quality I would have thought He would choose for me.

_They are pathetic, snivelling creatures…_

If the Dark Lord thinks they are good enough for me, then they are. But they never bring news of the outside world. I so want to know how the Dark Lord's world is flourishing. I'm sure it is. I just want to _see_ it. How I would love to help Him torture Mudbloods and half-bloods, to see the evidence of His glory displayed all around me.

_You're not a part of it… Even though you deserve to be. He shouldn't treat His most loyal servant this way._

"He's treating me like a queen!" I yell, my voice echoing off the walls of my small room. Instantly I stare at my white walls, the small bed in the corner, the small seating area, the few books lining the shelves, the door to the small bathroom.

_You're in a cage — this is exactly like Azkaban. He's locking you away._

"No, no — that isn't true!"

Thoughts like this haunt me every day — every day I lose a small bit of hope that I had the day before. I know He is coming for me — _He is!_ — but a part of me seems to believe all of these terrible things. I was never disloyal… before. But the Dark Lord has won! I should be with Him, I should be next to Him. I am His queen, His servant. I am the one who would do anything for Him. I should be in a castle.

With a jerk, I stand up and run to the door. I begin to pull furiously at the handle.

_You've been locked in for years — when will you lose hope? There is nothing more to hope for._

I reach for my wand, even thought that hadn't been there since…

_Since He locked you in this place._

He has his reasons, _that_ I can be sure of. Maybe he considers this to be a testament to my loyalty. "Why do I have to prove myself to you again, my Lord?" I cry into the room. "Don't you know me yet? You know that I would do… anything."

Still, no part of me can deny the strangeness of not having my wand. Of course, I am sure He is just testing me in a way that my mind cannot comprehend; He is brilliant, and I am not. I don't like my wand not being there, though. I am a witch, and a witch needs her wand. I'm not a Muggle!

It was killing me not to be able to do anything except sit here and wait. I wanted to curse! I wanted again to feel the power of the Cruciatus Curse running through my veins — I wanted to hear the screams of my victims, to again listen to that music.

I try to remember if He told me about it that day…

_Do you even remember that day?_

No, that is the worst part. I don't remember that day at all. I remember being at the Final Battle, preparing to fight and going with my Lord everywhere, but after that my mind is blank. I can't even remember seeing the Dark Lord defeat Harry Potter — all I can remember is a deep sense that the half-blood was defeated and that my Lord had triumphed. Of that I was sure. The half-blood could never have defeated my Lord.

_Are you sure?_

"Yes! Yes, I'm sure!" my voice rings out in the small room.

I run again to the door, and pull brutally at it, every once in a while my hands leaving the handle to scratch harshly against the wood, my nails following the familiar path — that path that I scratch day after day. My nails get sore, and streaks of blood are left behind from where they lift from my nail bed. I scream in frustration and begin banging as hard as I can, willingly bruising my hands if it means someone will hear — that someone will come.

"My Lord!" I scream at the top of my lungs, my eardrums buzzing in protest at the volume. "My Lord, please! Let me leave! Let me serve You! Please, my Lord! Please!"

I repeat the plea over and over until my voice again is hoarse, and then I sink to the ground, staring at the door, staring at the one place that would allow me to escape… except it never does.

_He'll never come for you!_

"I know," I whisper, and then gasp loudly as I realise what I just admitted. In an attempt to redeem myself I continue my pleas to anyone on the other side of the door — anyone who could bring my Lord back to me.

--

"No change?" the Psychiatric Healer, head of the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's, asked his assistant quietly.

"No, sir, none at all. She still thinks he beat Harry Potter and that he's ruling over everyone right now."

The Healer looked down at her chart. "It's been ten years," he sighed.

"Yes, and there is no change whatsoever. She thinks he is coming for her."

"Still?"

A nod came.

"I don't think there ever will be change. She seems to be stuck in a permanent state of mind. She is continuously blocking out the Final Battle and any knowledge that she was sent here for reasons other than the correct one, no matter what we do."

"Is there nothing else we can do?"

"I don't know. I don't think. But, you know, the truth would kill her."

"It just seems terrible that she devoted her life to You-Know-Who so much that she can't accept it."

"She could have been brilliant, but instead, she's…"

"Insane?"

The Healer nodded sadly. "Do you hear that?" he asked after a moment.

The two of them pressed their ears against the door and listened. Though the sound was muffled, the desperation in her voice was apparent.

"Please, my Lord!" Bellatrix Lestrange screamed. "Please come! I need you!…"


End file.
